Three days
by StarshotFourteen
Summary: When your other half is torn away from you, how do you cope? How do you smile and tell people you're fine when the biggest part of you is gone? Maybe you don't. Maybe you just wait for a way to join them, to escape from this life that holds no value for you anymore. (George's PoV after the war.)


A/N: I wrote this for The Hogwarts Experience's fanfiction contest, and to my great surprise it actually won. I never expected that, since it's the first HP fanfic I've ever written, but apparently it's good so I thought I'd share it here.  
It's been said it should probably come with a warning: if you appreciate your feels, stop reading now before they get shattered - it's made quite a few people cry.  
(As this was my intention I feel rather accomplished, but I do apologize in advance if it makes you sad.)  
If for some reason you enjoy having your feels destroyed, you should listen to the song "_A Phoenix Lament_" by Ministry of Magic during the first half, or "_Comptine d'un autre été, l'après-midi_" (Yes, the Amélie soundtrack) by Yann Tiersen for the second one. That's what I listened to while writing this and it made me hurt more than a little. Hope it shows.

Alright, I'm done talking, so without further ado we shall go to the actual story - I know it's not perfect, but please do take time to tell me what you thought, it means a lot to me to hear people's opinions.  
_

Three days. It has been three days since my world was torn apart. Three days since the Battle of Hogwarts, three days since I last slept, three days since the Dark Lord was defeated. Only three days, and already I feel like giving up. When Fred was here, three days could seem like a mere three hours, spent in our room experimenting on one of our new products. Three days could mean an eternity, counting down to go back to school, or waiting for the next Quidditch match. And no matter how long they seemed to last, they were always three good days, because we were together. I've been trying to accept it, trying to face the future, but I can't. He was part of me, he made me whole.. how can they expect me to get over this? Sometimes I still think he'll suddenly show up, that he's just in the next room. When I wake up, the first thing I do is look over at his bed, to see him wake up at the exact same moment. Three times have I passed a mirror and felt a jolt of shock in my stomach because his familiar form was walking beside me once again. Those are the best moments, those glorious seconds in which I am able to forget. They all end in pain however, because sooner or later I always realize it's not real, that he's still- Three seconds, that's all it took. One moment he was joking at Perce, full of life and energy, and before he could even finish his sentence, chaos erupted. The ceiling collapsed, and then there was only dust, a big pile of rocks where my brother had been. My heart stopped, no one moved, and in those few quiet seconds it seemed as if the whole world was holding its breath. After that, it's all just a blur. I think I went on fighting, throwing myself in the way of every curse I saw, just hoping the next one would be the end.. But miraculously, I survived, and so did the rest of our family. After Voldemort was defeated, I couldn't feel anything. No joy of winning, no hatred for the war that took my life away. I went numb. I think my body disabled all my feelings, for fear of shutting down. It wasn't until I got back to our – my – apartment that his death really started to sink in. Seeing all of his stuff just lying around, his bed unmade, the mess from our last-minute preparations before heading off to the war… It killed me. For the longest time I sat there, just waiting for him to return, expecting to see his familiar shape walk through the door and tell me it had all been a mistake, just a big joke gone wrong. I waited and waited, until dawn broke for the first time since we'd left here and it started to sink in. He would never come back. I would never hear his voice again, or see his face – but then again, I would. Everything I said or did from that day on would remind me of him, the other half I'd lost. I think it was at that point I started crying, uncontrollable sobs tearing me apart until I was left broken on the floor, with neither the energy nor the will to get up. On the third day, Bill came by and found me, weak and exhausted as I was. He took me back to the Burrow and mom put me in bed, setting aside all her own grief and pain to take care of me, like she always did and always would.  
_

Three weeks have passed since then, and I haven't talked to anyone. I just stare at the room that was once ours, the desks we used to work on, the bed where he slept next to me every night of our existence, and I cry. I don't even have the energy for sobs and tears, but in my head I cry rivers - oceans that will drown me and take me to him once more. After a while, that became the only thing I could think about. To get him back, or to get back to him. Bill came by sometimes, trying to keep me updated on things, but his voice just wouldn't register with me. The only thing I wanted to hear was Fred, and for that exact reason I could not say anything myself. Whenever mom came in to bring me supper, I'd nod in gratitude and attempt at a smile, but I don't think it really worked because I could always see tears filling her eyes as she kissed my forehead and left. I barely ate, and I felt sorry for the effort she put into taking care of me. What was the point of it anyway? All I wanted was to see him again, to be whole, and I knew that would not happen for as long as I lived – how could I be alive, while he was not? It made no sense to me at all. Nothing did. Bill and Fleur's child was born, and I could hear them celebrating the new life downstairs, the losses and pain they'd suffered momentarily forgotten through this joyous news. If only I could be like that, I thought, but I knew I could never feel happiness again. Not with half of me gone. I started thinking of ways to die – no one I knew had ever committed suicide, and I didn't think you could use a killing curse on yourself, so I started listing every possible way I'd heard about in my head. None of them seemed right though, either too messy or too clean, the intention not really showing in the deed itself. I decided to wait a while. If it was meant to be, the perfect solution would come.  
_

Months went by, and I started speaking again. Every word that left my mouth sent a jolt of pain and recognition through my heart, but I couldn't just stay in bed being catatonic now could I? It wasn't fair to anyone, especially mom, if I just kept leading a half-life, withering away in my bed. Until I found the way out, I decided I would at least try to live. So I went downstairs every morning, had breakfast, joked around with whichever one of our family members was there, trying to pretend I was getting better. I needed to show them I was moving on so they would stop worrying about me. They deserved every scrap of happiness they could get. Sometimes I could still hear my mom crying at night though, and the low rumble of my father's voice comforting her.  
Ginny still lived here, and Harry too; Hermione sometimes showed up to visit Ron, and I thought about how great it was that they had all been able to close the book on the war and find new reasons to live. I wanted them to be happy of course, but sometimes it only enraged me that they'd forgotten so soon. There were times when I wanted to punch the smiles off their faces and choke their laughter and scream his name at them until they finally remembered who he was, what he had meant to them, what he had meant to me. Those where usually the moments when I chose to retreat to my room, leaving them gazing at my back with their looks of pity, wondering what memory they'd triggered this time to get me upset.  
Everyone was so careful around me, making sure not to mention his name, or use any of the inside jokes we used to have as a family, and I appreciated and hated it at the same time. One time mom called me Fred by accident, all distracted by her cooking for Ginny's birthday. "Thank you, Fred dear," she murmured absent-mindedly, a sweet smile on her face. I froze and clenched the stack of plates I had been asked to bring her until my fists turned white. Recognizing her mistake, she looked up at me in horror; finally, I think, beginning to see some of the rage that had been building up inside me. I took some deep breaths, trying to calm myself, and pulled her into a hug. "Honestly woman, you call yourself our mother?" I managed to choke out, and as she started sobbing against my chest I realized what the way was – what it had been all along. Fred and I had always been part of each other, only a select few were even able to tell us apart. Wouldn't it make sense for us to die in the same way, even if it could not have been at the same time?

After the celebration was over, I went to my room. Some of the guests were staying over, but no one had dared to share a room with me. I would never allow anyone to sleep in his bed, not even myself, though sometimes I really wanted to, to feel close to him again. Our entire family was home, with the 'new additions' of Hermione, Harry, Fleur and Victoire, and I could hear some of them stumbling around in their rooms, or talking quietly to each other. Everyone had found their better half, while I had lost mine. I felt a sob rising, but I held it in, determined not to cry. There would be no better time than now, I thought, and as I waited for them all to fall asleep the silence started weighing down on me. Would I really be able to do this? To take my own life, and that of my family in the process, just because of one loss? I shook my head in anger. Fred was not 'just one loss'; he was _the_ loss, the one that nullified all other deaths and blocked out all joy. His death was the worst and most important one, and I would sacrifice all of our lives trying to get him back. The night was almost done and I looked around our room one final time before pointing my wand at the ceiling. I closed my eyes and felt a soft breeze blowing in through the window. As my mind formed the words to the spell that I knew would destroy us all, I thought I could hear the beating of wings, and then a soft rustling of feathers. "Fred?" I asked, almost afraid to speak, but I was answered by a soft screeching. I opened my eyes to see a vaguely familiar owl sitting on my desk, carrying a thick, heavy letter. I lowered my wand, my wish for an ending overruled by my curiosity for now. I hadn't heard from anyone since the Battle, and I wondered who would take an interest in me after all this time. As I walked towards the owl and took the letter from its beak, I remembered. One look at the handwriting confirmed my thoughts, and as dawn broke I spoke the name of the only one that I knew would understand. "Angelina."


End file.
